Page 53 of Under Control

The way Aram demanded an apology and insults Karine right in front of me. That was designed to make me react.

And now here I am, reacting.

The worst way possible.

I can’t even blame Karine. I dragged her into this, thinking I could play the game and come out ahead, but I hadn’t properly prepared her. The whole Brotherhood, sisters and wives and brothers, they’re all a bunch of scheming bastards.

Sona knew what she was doing. And Aram did too.

This is exactly what they wanted.

An alliance was a fantasy. A long, slow, drawn-out revenge was never going to happen.

I wanted to get close to them. I wanted to figure out how they worked, where their weaknesses were, what they considered their strengths.

Then I was going to dismantle them little by little before crushing Aram under my boot.

Aram’s nose breaks under my knuckles.

And all my plans change.

The room explodes into chaos. Sona topples backward off her chair with a shriek and goes to check on her brother, making sure he’s not dead. If only I were so fucking lucky. I turn from the downed Armenian boss and grab my wife, pulling her against me and drawing a gun, as the Brotherhood soldiers start shouting and pulling weapons.

My men do the same.

I don’t know who starts shooting first, and it doesn’t matter.

In the close quarters of the country club, it’s a fucking slaughter.

Bullets slam into booths and walls. Woodchips and plaster dust fill the air. Cartridge smoke wafts into my nose, acrid and sharp. I kill a soldier as he tries to block my way. He goes down in a spray of his own blood. The roar of gunfire and screaming men drowns out whatever I’m shouting at my people.

I drag Karine, protecting her with my body, as Anton and a group of my best men form a protective barrier, some kneeling to fire low, others going high, just like they were trained. Onegoes down in a spray of blood, followed by the gurgle of another choking on his own tongue. Something hot grazes across my calf, but I keep moving. All I can think about is getting Karine out of here and into safety.

There’s blood on the carpet. Blood on the walls. Outside is just as bad: my men are fighting off the Armenians, keeping them pinned to their own cars, as I sprint across the parking lot toward my SUV with my wife slung over my shoulder.

Karine doesn’t struggle. She’s in shock as I practically throw her into the back seat and whirl around. Armenians try to follow, but Anton and I pin them down with gunfire and force them back into cover before they can come outside. My soldiers use the cars and trucks as barriers while they try to kill any enemy they can find, but soon I send the signal to pull out. The longer we stay here, the more likely we are to lose more men, and this isn’t a stand worth taking.

I get behind the wheel while Anton rolls down the window and keeps shooting. At least two of the SUVs we came with are empty, and I’d guess eight are dead, possibly more. But the Armenians don’t have it any better: I count six corpses outside as I speed away, gunning the engine and hitting the pavement in a spray of sparks from the undercarriage.

“What the fuck was that?” Anton shouts, rolling up the window. He reloads his gun. “What the hell happened?”

“It was bullshit,” I say, glancing at Karine in the rearview mirror. She’s pale and trembling, curled up in a ball, unable to look back. “That whole meeting was just a trap, and we walked right into it.”

“You punched Aram in the fucking face.”

“He insulted my wife.”

“She insultedhissister.”

“His sister insultedher. We can go back and forth like this all day, but the fact remains, the Brotherhood was never going to give me what I wanted.”

“And what did you want, damn it?” Anton’s furious. He never speaks to me like this because he usually knows better.

Blood drips down my socks, and only then do I realize that I’ve been shot.

“I wanted to lure them into a false sense of complacency before slaughtering every single one of them.” I stare at my best friend as my leg begins to hurt like hell. My jaw tightens, and I can see my plans fade and die.

“You’re getting a war instead,” Anton says, turning to look back at Karine. But his eyes go wide. “Fuck, Valentin?—”

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